Losing His Mind
by Cyanide and Insomnia
Summary: One-shot, RAH. When a young COBRA trooper witnesses the capture of his squadmates by GI Joe, he fears they're going to be interrogated and executed and plans to save them. But the truth may be much worse..


**An Admittedly Unneeded Disclaimer: **I don't own GI Joe: A Real American Hero (the cartoon), or any characters besides this poor grunt and his squad(s). If I did, I would probably be chased away from it by the fans.

This is not a "GI Joe is evil, COBRA is good" sort of story, even if phrasing or events may make it seem that way. This is not _purposefully_ AU. It's more a Alternate Interpretation. But if it makes you feel better to interpret it as AU, well, who am I to stop you? Just relax and enjoy some grunt torture.

And remember.. a mind is a terrible thing to waste.

* * *

><p>A new COBRA recruit sat in the back of the van, eagerly awaiting deployment.<p>

His name was Julian. He was 20, although his too-big blue eyes and rounded, open face often caused others to mistake him for a teenager, sixteen at the oldest. Other troopers called him "Babyface" because of this, and sometimes joked that he should have stayed home with his momma or that kindergarten was over there. They also called him "Limpy", on account of his left leg being a twisted, mangled mess that forced him to limp; despite this injury he would always put forth his best efforts and could outrun some of the more healthy, strong-bodied troopers, which allowed him to be put on the front lines with the rest of them.

He was a very kind, caring, and easy-going sort of lad, who would only smile and laugh with the others as they made jokes at his expense. He cared very much for the other troopers around him, and even though he had only known them for a few days, a week at the most, he had already begun to think of his squadmates as the family he'd never had. He could tell they loved him, too, although probably not in the same way - more in an owner and their retarded three-legged pet sort of way. And he was absolutely fine with that.

To say he loved being in COBRA and everything about COBRA was an understatement. He lived, breathed, and slept COBRA. If his squad was his family, the rest of the organization was his extended family, including the commander. His biggest dream was to have the commander personally commend him on a job well done, no matter what it was or how insignificant it may have seemed. Hell, even the slightest nod in his direction from that man would send him over the moon.

One may be wondering how such a nice, loving person came to work for COBRA. One would probably assume he was brainwashed.

He would viciously assert that this was not the case - he joined up willingly. It had been a result of life throwing as much shit as it could at him, really.

Freshly out of high school, the only work he could find was at a nearby factory. One day, he accidentally slipped and fell into the machine he was working on, which cost him the use of his leg (although he was lucky he otherwise came out unharmed) - the factory manager accused him of doing this on purpose to get worker's compensation and fired him on the spot. With no health insurance and no income, getting his leg to a doctor was out of the question, forcing it to heal as it was and giving him his limp, which in turn made potential employers leery of him. He had never really been sure _why_, as otherwise he was perfectly qualified for whatever it was he applied for, but all the same, he was jobless. Because his mother was dead and his dad had kicked him out after graduation without giving him time to find a place to live, he was homeless. He would have moved back home, except that when he'd tried, he'd learned that his father had been killed in a head-on collision with a drunk driver, being drunk himself.

He had no one else to turn to, so he was left on his own. For the next two years, he limped through the streets as a beggar, scraping together what little loose change he could find on the ground and the odd donation from passersby that cared enough to help. Of course he had still tried to find work, but still no one would hire him. Then one day he found a little flyer with the COBRA insignia on it, proclaiming a new future for him was waiting.. intrigued, he went to the address on the flyer - and it was an odd address, as it seemed to be in some shady warehouse on the outskirts of town - and was immediately snapped up the moment he offered to join, twisted leg and all. They hadn't cared. They were impressed that he still wanted to join after they warned him it wasn't going to be easy for someone in no less than perfect condition.

Once he'd passed the entrance exams, they had plopped him into a squad of three other men who were charged with taking care of him and "showing him the ropes", so to speak. The leader was Jonas, an older, grizzled Viper that made sure the rest of them knew their place in the squad, and to challenge his role as leader would have serious, violent consequences. He was the "father" in Julian's little mind-family, as he was rather patronly despite his vicious temper. The second-in-command was Frank, a rather effiminate worrywart that stayed just a little too close to Jonas for comfort, earning him the title of "mother" (alternatively, "father's sassy gay friend" despite no evidence to confirm his sexuality). He was a lowly trooper, like himself and the last member of the squad, but it was clear he wanted to be promoted to some position that kept him far, far off the front lines. The last member of the squad was of course his "brother", Eric, the source of all the jokes and a bit of a jackass who liked to push him around. But that was okay. He pushed _everyone _around.

Firmly ensconced in his squad, they had sent him out to the front lines. Well, that was where he was going, sitting in this van. He couldn't remember what they were doing, specifically, only that he had to sit here and wait for the signal so they could run out and beat up some Joes. He couldn't wait. He was just too excited.

Oddly enough, though, he was the only one that was looking forward to this - all the troopers in the van, his squad included, had this.. resigned, kicked-dog sort of look. He couldn't understand why. What was their problem? He would have thought EVERYONE would have loved to have a chance to beat up the enemy like this. Well, sure, they probably had them outnumbered out there, but that was part of the fun, right? Rising to the challenge? And hey, didn't hiding in the van mean this was a sneak attack? If so, they really had no excuse to look so sad, because they had the advantage.

He glanced questioningly toward Jonas, who only shook his head and glanced away. There was that time-honored "my son is an idiot" long-suffering sigh that went with it, which only furthered Julian's confusion. Had the van doors not slid open at that moment, he probably would have started interrogating all of these sad-eyed pansies.

Excitement turned to apprehension as he followed the pack out of the van, laser rifle in hand, unable to stop wondering what had dampened the mood over the trip. Then his thoughts immediately became little more than a primal order to run, shoot, and keep from getting shot as the Joes opened fire, adrenaline pumping - soon enough the excitement was back, especially after he picked off one of the uniformed soldiers. Not one of the "named ones", of course, that was far too ambitious for a newbie like himself.. although it didn't seem to make a difference to the "named ones" themselves, as his head was nearly taken off by a spear chucked by that brunette woman - it exploded moments later, throwing him several feet aside like a gimpy-legged ragdoll, smacking straight into some of his comrades and turning them into a disgruntled trooper dogpile.

A barrage of laser fire mere inches from the dogpile forced him to get up and dart back to the safety of upright troopers, only to be suddenly yanked aside by a thick, muscular arm and dragged toward the wreckage of the van. Instinctively he fought against it, completely wired to blast its owner in the face as he jerked around to face them - only to see that it was Jonas. There was this look on his grizzled old face that sent any excitement he may still have felt scurrying away into the dank recesses of his mind.

It was concerned, most of all, but it was also that resigned look. Like he had come to die. Like they were _all_ going to die.

"Stay here," He growled as he put him down. "Whatever happens, _stay right here._"

The rest of his squad were hunched behind him, watching the battlefield with a mixture of Jonas' look and grim determination. Julian immediately tried to join them, only to be shoved back where he was. Before he had a chance to try again, Jonas pushed him into a dark little alcove in the wall behind the wreckage with a low growl, eyes daring him to move.

This would probably be his last warning to obey his earlier order lest he incur his wrath, so this time he stayed put in the cramped space, wincing as his gimpy leg thoroughly disagreed with this decision.

Jonas' expression momentarily softened at that. "Look, kid. I'm sorry, but this is for your own good. I don't want them to catch you. It ain't a fate a newbie oughta suffer, especially not one as.. innocent as you."

"But, sir-"

It was too late. The squad leader had already turned away and lead the others back out into the battlefield with a lusty cry of 'COBRAAA!', leaving the young recruit to sit in this dark, uncomfortable hidey-hole. He had a clear view of the battle, and judging by the fact that one of the Joes had passed terrifyingly close to the alcove - causing him to freeze up and hold his breath, not unlike hiding from any other predator - without noticing him, the reverse wasn't true.

This wasn't right. He shouldn't be hiding in the dark. He should be out there, attacking Joes with his squad.

Especially now that Skystrikers were coming in, carrying reinforcements for the enemy. Whatever advantage they had had at the beginning was dwindling. Soon enough troopers were starting to fall, left and right, and to keep the numbers from growing, someone - it sounded like Jonas - called a surrender. The Joes then began to round them up like animals, roughly forcing them into walking a straight line towards the Skystrikers and kicking anyone who straggled back into line. His squad was included in that line, and in fact looked to be up front.

Where were they taking them? What was going to happen to them?

He'd heard stories of troopers being captured and never returning, but he'd never paid attention to them. Never thought he'd see it for himself.

No wonder they had looked so sad. They knew this was going to happen. Now he felt horrible for looking forward to the battle at all.

"Is that all of 'em?" One of the Joes called, as the last member of the line stepped on board.

Julian froze. He had begun to squirm out of the alcove, to stop the procession, and at this comment he immediately squirmed back in.

Not one second after he had stopped moving once again, another Joe came close to the alcove in search of more troopers to round up. So close, this time, he could almost see every pore on his face. But he was more worried about those searching eyes in the face. They made him feel exceedingly exposed, despite the darkness enveloping him. Any minute now, they would focus on him and inform the others that no, there was one more, let me get him, he's not going anywhere..

Cold fear gripped him as the eyes DID happen to land on him, lingering..

Then they moved away, indicating that the Joe hadn't seen him. He still couldn't breathe until the Joe moved away himself, however, and his lungs were already starting to burn.

"No more over here," The Joe called after a few more agonizing moments, trotting back to the Strikers.

Julian waited until he was actually AT one of the planes before he allowed himself to breathe, loudly gasping for air and hoping that no one else was going to come over to see what was making the ruckus. Luckily all of the other Joes were heading back to the planes themselves, which took off, leaving the recruit alone on the battlefield with the corpses of his comrades - and taking his squadmates to gods know where to be interrogated, tortured, and probably even executed.

Any relief he could have felt for avoiding capture was outweighed by the fear and concern for the other troopers.

He couldn't let the Joes torture them and kill them like that. He had to save them.

But to save them, he had to let himself be captured, too.

He told the commander as such when he returned to the base. Impressed that he had come back at all, the commander agreed with his decision, assigning him as the leader of another squad but withholding any information deemed potentially valuable to the Joes. The other troopers in his new squad had direct orders to keep things a secret from him as well, which wasn't that hard to do as they were all his senior and as such hardly took him seriously as their leader. He was fine with that. He just had to hope they'd listen to him when the time came.

He honestly didn't want to do this. A million questions of doubt buzzed in his head, each more horrible than the last. What if he infiltrated the Pit only to find that it was too late for his former squad? What if he was killed before he could be captured? What if he was tortured and killed himself before he could get to them?

But at the same time, he realized he had to do this. No one else would. He couldn't just idly sit by and let his "family" die. And if dying himself meant they would be safe, well.

So much for innocence, eh, Jonas?

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

This time he made sure this was a small operation. He and his squad and a few other troopers were sent out. The other group would get whatever it was the commander needed for his latest scheme, while he and his squad would provide distraction for the group of Joes guarding the place. He had already decided he would provide ALL the distraction, keeping the others out of sight and out of the Joes' hands, even if having people to back him up when he went in would probably be safer. He just didn't want anyone else to be caught.

Had he been any higher rank, the commander probably would have let him infiltrate the Pit - at least, he was pretty sure they were being taken to the Pit; if it was prison, well, he'd infiltrate that too - straight up and get them himself. But as it was, he had to rely on being captured. He wasn't very stealthy, anyway, so doing it himself would have been disasterous.

The beginnings of a plan were forming in his mind. He would be captured, and hope that they took him to the same place his squad was being held. If not, he would break free and find them directly, and with his help they would break the other troopers out and flee. He would make sure the Joes focused on him for as long as it took everyone to get out in peace, possibly through sabotaging various things in their base and throwing them for a wild goose chase. And ideally, after all this, he would get out too.

Admittedly, this was hardly a plan. But it was all he had.

"Why the long face, Limpy?" One of his new squadmates asked, bringing him out of his determined trance.

He realized that this time, he was the only one with the resigned, kicked-dog look. The rest of them weren't even treating this like a real mission.

"You'll see," Julian said quietly, dropping his gaze back to the floor. "Hopefully not personally."

Before they could ask about this, the van doors opened. The first group slunk out quietly into the night, and once they were out of the way, he jumped out. He heard his squad move to join him, and immediately he turned and attempted to slam the doors closed on them - this action was thwarted by a well-placed boot and a resulting squawk. Before he could try again the owner of the boot muscled his way out, followed by the other two, who each smacked him upside the head on their way out.

This wasn't going quite as he hoped.

"The hell was that for?" His second-in-command grunted.

The young leader huffed. "I wanted you guys to stay in the van."

"One guy is hardly a distraction, y'know."

"Yeah, but three other guys scattering while one guy gets caught might get 'em to notice the other group," Julian explained, affecting his former leader's 'you are an idiot' tone. "Do you want the whole operation to come down 'cause you happened to run the wrong way and lead the enemy right _to_ who you're supposed to be distracting them _from_?"

The other man gave a suspicious squint. ".. what do you mean 'while one guy gets caught'?"

Right to the point, of course.

"I plan to run right at the Joes and let 'em catch me." He said, trying to sound casual. Like this was a completely normal idea.

His squad's mortified gaze told him he didn't do a very good job.

"Are you stupid?" His second hissed. "Do you even _know_ what they do to guys like us? You'll be lucky if you don't-"

"Shh! Someone's coming!"

The tell-tale crunching of footsteps on the gravel told them the trooper was right. It sounded like only one, probably male, judging by the apparent weight.

Without a second thought, Julian darted out and tackled him to the ground, choking him into unconsciousness before he could put up a proper fight. It was only a generic soldier, hardly impressive as a take-down, even for a gimpy-legged newbie. He could distantly see a pack of "named" Joes, more than likely the _actual_ guards of the place, turning their attention towards him.. he knew he'd have to act fast if he wanted to be the only casualty.

Immediately he snapped his head towards the rest of his squad with a growl, stopping them in their tracks. "Stay here."

"But-"

"Whatever happens," His voice became dangerous, even more threatening than the man it was imitating somehow. "I want you to _stay right here._"

Without waiting for their protest, or finding a rather large alcove to shove them all in, he got off his unconscious victim and charged head-on towards the Joes with a frenzied scream, shooting at them with their fallen soldier's gun. He wasn't really aiming directly at anyone, but he did manage to clip one of their shoulders - which spurred them into charging right back at him.

A herd of angry, muscular men pelting directly toward him with guns blazing kind of knocked what little bravery he'd summoned for his own charge out of him, and he skewed to the right - opposite the direction of the first, more important group - with a much more terrified scream. More of a girlish squeal, really. Thankfully, this didn't seem to deter his pursuers from continuing the pursuit, and considering all sets of feet were thundering after him he had to assume his squad was still in hiding, or at least out of range.

Good. Then he WOULD be the only casualty.

Knowing running away probably wouldn't keep their interest for long, he suddenly turned on his heel and charged right back at them, punting the one known as Gung Ho full-force in the face and using him as a living springboard to keep running away in a surprisingly elegant move despite his gimpy leg. There were some benefits to being small and agile, although the success of this move was probably only due to the element of surprise. He was surprised himself he didn't topple to the ground on the landing.

This did keep their interest.. at the cost of making it so much easier for the rest of them to pounce on him and tackle him to the ground before he got too much farther away. He had never before been the recipient of a dogpile, and he'd rather keep it that way from now on.

While this assault was ultimately what he wanted, the pain of all that weight pressing down on his twisted leg caused him to squirm and push against them - not necessarily to escape, just to get in a different position that _didn't_ cause his entire left side to feel like it was dipped in molten lava.

They obviously didn't take it that way, as someone grabbed him and more fervently pushed him to the ground. "Stay down, ya lousy snake!"

"Get off me, ya fat bastard!" He snarled back, covering the agony with annoyance as he attempted to wrestle free. "You'll never take me alive!"

All for show, of course.

"I wouldn't say that," Someone else remarked, female this time, tone rather chilling. "You're much more useful to us alive."

Something in the way she'd said that sounded like she meant much more than simple information gathering.

Suddenly he was wondering if this had been such a good idea after all.

He wasn't allowed much more time to wonder, however, before what felt all the world like a brick wrapped in meat swiftly and violently _slammed _into the back of his head, knocking him out instantly.

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

_Where.. where am I? Did I make it?_

He awoke to darkness and a searing inferno of pain in both his head and his twisted leg. There was no way of knowing how long he had been out - maybe minutes, maybe hours.. maybe even _days_. He opened his eyes to see if he could tell where he was, only to find that the darkness wasn't merely inside his head. There was literally no difference.

Something was attached to his head, pressing in on what already ached. Instinctively he shifted to remove it, but found his hands couldn't move. Something else was attached to his wrists, keeping them down. A hesitant shift of both good and bad legs told him there was something on his ankles, too. The softest of whimpers wormed its way out of his throat as his groggy, aching brain finally came to the realization of what this all meant: not only was he captured, he was trapped.

This wasn't part of the plan. They weren't supposed to strap him down to some chair and leave him in a dark room gods know where. How was he supposed to save his squad now?

Although, admittedly, saving his squad was on the backburner at the moment in favor of being absolutely terrified. This was like being cramped in that alcove tenfold, only now there was no way out and he was probably going to die horrifically in this chair, in the dark, alone- alright, so maybe terrified wasn't the right word. Maybe "panic" was the right word. It was definitely the word that covered his feverish attempts at struggling against his restraints despite the resulting pain, and the desperate cries for them to let him go, he'll do anything, please-

A light snapped on above his head, blinding him and momentarily stopping his struggle. When his eyes finally adjusted, the vaguest hint of human shapes were approaching him from the darkness.. which caused him to redouble his efforts the moment he identified them as the enemy.

"Calm down," The forefront of the pack, an African-American man wearing a pair of mirrored sunglasses that eclipsed his eyes and tan fatigues, drawled in what he probably thought was an assuring tone. It only amped up the young trooper's terror. "This may hurt a bit, but it's not going to kill you."

"Aww, Doc, don't tell him that," Someone else sneered from behind the man.

As though this "assurance" was going to stop him from fearing whatever it was they were going to do to him. Ignoring this remark, 'Doc' reached over towards his face, causing him to flinch away. He felt him adjust something on that thing on his head instead, a dial of some sort. He felt more than heard the thing begin to hum, an electrical whirring not unlike a taser charging up. Was this thing a taser? Were they planning to electrocute his brain? How on earth was this not going to kill him?

"Please.. sir.. I'll.. I'll tell you anything you want to know.." Julian whimpered helplessly, watching his captors in hopes of some reprieve, despite the fact that he couldn't see Doc's eyes and he could hardly see the others. "J-just please.. don't do this.. let me go.."

Had his squad, either set, been here, they would have scoffed at this pathetic show. But he was trying, dammit.

The doctor paused for perhaps a moment to consider this, smiling lightly. "If it'll make you feel any better, then sure, you can talk. But you're not going anywhere."

"You can start with what the hell you were doing at the lab."

You. Singular. His second squad was safe. The other group was safe. His addle-brained plan hadn't brought down the operation.

He hesitated a bit too long in fabricating an adequate story, for he saw Doc motion to someone still covered by darkness. Moments later the headache of earlier was drowned out by a sharper, more deliberate, far more intense searing agony swarming inside his skull, a bright white flash on the inside of his eyes blotting out the light above him. The dark room echoed with his agonized scream.. then the soft, pained whimpers as it suddenly stopped, leaving him in a daze. Weak and half-conscious and no less terrified.

They _were _going to electrocute his brain. And apparently it was going to be his punishment for saying the wrong things or saying nothing at all, no matter how much it sounded like this was unrelated to his non-existent intel earlier.

"R.. rescue mission.." His half-cooked mind supplied, finally - it wasn't entirely a lie. "Had to get captured.. to rescue squad.."

One of the other men laughed at this. "That don't sound like anythin' the head snake would tell you peons to do."

He tried to shake his head, only to be stopped by the head-electrocuting-thing trapping it in place.

"Wasn't.. wasn't ordered by the commander.. did it on my own.."

Another bright flash exploding in his eyes, another bolt of searing pain soaring through him, another agonized scream tearing from his throat. For a second he blacked out - or, at least, it felt like blacking out. A dark, terrifying disconnect in his mind for mere moments. Losing his mind in a haze of static. What were they trying to do to him? He had told them the truth. He was being helpful. He didn't need to be punished.

"Please.. you have to believe me.. I did nothing wrong.. " He felt the coldness of tears on his cheeks, soaking his facemask. His voice was already beginning to become hoarse from screaming. "I'm sorry I attacked a couple of your guys but I was only doing what I had to save them.. they're like family to me.. please.. please stop.."

Distantly he heard the dark-skinned doctor murmuring something to someone in the darkness, something about this being the reason it wasn't working. What wasn't working? Was this supposed to be doing something besides turning his brain into a fried egg and making him cry like a little girl in hopes it would get them to stop? Were they aiming for that frightening disconnect? He didn't want to experience that again. The pain was bad enough, but that.. that was downright horrifying.

Once again Doc approached him, fiddling with the dial on the thing on his head, ignorant of the sobbing and the trembling and scared, wide-eyed pleading look. In fact he looked a bit annoyed at him - as though he was offended he had the nerve to cry and beg and plead like any other normal human being who was strapped to a torture machine. "I'm going to have to ask you to stop fighting it and just relax. You're only making it worse for yourself - this is usually a very quick and easy process."

"P-please stop.." He tried again, choking out another sob. The man was turning away. Back to the cause of the electrocution. He was going to make that motion again and there was going to be more pain. "Please.. please don't do this.. whatever it is you're trying to do to me, please don't.."

The hand went up, as did his panic.

"No, no no no no- no more, please- don't-"

He didn't need to see the hand go down. Another, far more intense surge poured into his already broken brain, turning his panicked plea into an animalistic howl of pain - not unlike someone being murdered on the spot. The agony stopped for just a moment before resurging into him tenfold, his voice splintering into a hoarse croak as his vocal cords could no longer keep up with the pain, his fingers gripping the arms of the chair so tightly the metal began to bend in his grip. He could feel his mind slipping into darkness and haze- almost as if the electricity was manually tearing it out of his skull, throwing it into a disconnect unlike any other, destroying it and rebuilding it all at once- distantly he heard himself crying out for it to stop, one last attempt in that helpless, broken croak, so far from what was happening to him that he almost thought it had come out of another person-

-to spite his distant cries the dark-skinned doctor was leering at him, _pleased _with the hell he had thrown him into as he fell deeper into the darkness and more of his mind was torn asunder, remolded, twisted, broken and re-broken, over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over-

His last coherent thought was hoping that leering bastard would one day experience this pain

-_oh, no, that wasn't very nice, you shouldn't wish that on an ally_-

before _everything_ turned to darkness.

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

A new GI Joe recruit sat in the back of the Jeep, apprehensively awaiting deployment.

His name was James. He was 20, although his too-big blue eyes and rounded, open face often caused others to mistake him for a teenager, sixteen at the oldest. Other soldiers called him "Babyface" because of this, and sometimes joked that he should have stayed home with his momma or that kindergarten was over there. They also called him "Limpy", on account of his left leg being a twisted, mangled mess that forced him to limp; despite this injury he would always put forth his best efforts and could outrun some of the more healthy, strong-bodied soldiers, which allowed him to be put on the front lines with the rest of them.

He was a very kind, caring, and easy-going sort of lad, who would only smile and laugh with the others as they made jokes at his expense, although he was a little introverted and out of touch with the rest of his team. He tried very hard to care for them, and he knew he should, but all the same he couldn't help but keep his distance. He wasn't sure why. Regardless, the others seemed to think of him as a retarded three-legged pet dog and they were his owner, and he was fine with that.

He was filled with an inordinate amount of love for GI Joe and his country and everything about serving his country. He couldn't remember how exactly he came to be a part of this great team but he loved every minute of it, just like his team and the other soldiers around him. He lived, breathed, and slept patriotism. His biggest dream was to become one of the specialized Joes, the elite of the elite, and to be personally awarded a place among them by their leader, Sargeant Conrad "Duke" Hauser. Even the slightest of nods in his direction from that man would send him over the moon, let alone a "good job soldier".

Today they were going out to investigate a robbery at some lab on the outskirts of the Arizona desert. Well, investigate wasn't quite the right word. Apparently the commander had built some sort of contraption using stolen parts from the lab and was using it all willy-nilly on anything and everything he got ahold of, and it was their job to beat it out of him. Something to that effect, anyway. Over the trip he was filled with a weird dichotomy of excitement and apprehension, switching back and forth between the two more rapidly the closer they came to the battlefield.

Oddly enough, the other soldiers around him didn't seem to have the same problem. They were all excited, raring to beat up the enemy.

Why was this odd? Why was he the odd one out?

Well, wait. He wasn't the only one. An older, grizzled man to his left, not a member of his team but serving alongside them in this mission, had a sort of broken, resigned look. As though he expected them all to die.. or something much worse. Something about him was weirdly familiar, and as the man glanced up, the vaguest flash of recognition appeared in his long-suffering, tired eyes. But only for a moment.

"Jonas?" James heard himself say, perplexing both of them.

-_they had gotten him too, they had turned him into something like _him_, oh god if only he had gotten to them in time-_

The older man merely shook his head in disapproval, not necessarily denying this outright.

Why was he so worried about this man's identity? He had never seen him before in his life. Or at least, that's what he'd thought, until what felt like a detailed biography of him flooded into his mind- he was Jonas, a proud COBRA Viper who was very fatherly with a vicious temper if his leadership was questioned, had thought of him as his son as much as he thought of him as a father and took him under his wing accordingly, had tried to save him from something, something _terrible_-

A sharp, quick pain surged through his head, taking with it the last few seconds of thought, leaving behind the simple wondering of why he was staring at this weird old guy so intently.

He had those little headaches, once in a while. He wasn't sure where they came from or what was causing them, and they were steadily getting worse. He should probably see Doc about them, one of these days

-_no, don't tell him, he put them there, he'll only make it worse-_

but whenever he'd made up his mind to do so, something had always stopped him. Wrong hours, losing his pass, the like. It was strange, but hey, as long as it wasn't causing any real, permanent damage, he figured he could continue to put it off as long as the cosmos seemed to want him to.

The Jeep screeched to a halt, jostling its passengers. They had arrived at their destination, it seemed.

Although it was looking.. pretty barren. And there was a distinct absence of Cobra Commander wielding weird contraptions.

"COBRAAAAAA!"

All of a sudden troopers and Vipers began pouring out of the woodwork - the lab, the vehicles surrounding it, everywhere, forming one giant blue mass of vengeful, laser rifle-armed snake that charged at the hapless Joes at full-pelt, guns blazing, a pair of HISS tanks on their heels.

It was an ambush. They had stumbled into a trap.

They were outnumbered.. but not necessarily outclassed. As he and his men snatched up their own laser rifles and leapt out of the Jeep like the seats were on fire, he could hear the roar of Skystrikers overhead. The top class Joes were parachuting out of them, dropping amongst the fray around the same time James limped headlong into it. He tried to pick off as many troopers as were stupid enough to run towards him, although for the most part he only managed to clip them a little.

Suddenly an explosion to his left sent him flying through the air like a gimpy-legged ragdoll, slamming into a pack of troopers and turning them into an incomprehensible dogpile. He could only assume it had been one of Lady Jaye's explosive spears, and he really had to wonder why she had thrown it so close to her own men. Ah, well, these troopers seemed to be out of action- although the laser barrage mere inches from the dogpile told him there were plenty more where that came from.

He forced himself up onto his feet and shook his head, trying to knock the shock away to resume the battle. When his eyes opened again, they were met with confusion, unable to comprehend the fray around him- and at that moment an errant generic Joe soldier ran into his path.

Instinctively he shot at him, and it hit, knocking him to the ground amongst COBRA casualties. He saw, as he fell, it had been that old man on the Jeep, who had had the resigned look. A pang of guilt shot through him, but it wasn't the sort of guilt that ought to have come from murdering an ally in cold blood, no. It was a closer, deeper sort of guilt, as if he had just shot and killed a man he thought of as his father. He had killed him, he was sure. He wasn't moving.

Then, just as quickly as it had come, it passed, leaving the regular "oh god I'm going to be court-martialed for this" sort of guilt and he drove it back by resuming shooting troopers. He had no idea why he had just done that, nor why it was now thoroughly unsatisfying to pick off the herd of angry snake. Even as two of them slowed their charge to squat around his freshly-killed ally, presumably to raid his corpse for valuables like the evil bastards they were. Although, admittedly, the most they did was move his helmet and act surprised a bit.

But they were still defiling a corpse and that was wrong, even if he had caused it.

James approached the pair of them and his fallen comrade, somehow avoiding being trampled or shot by either side, his laser rifle trained on one's head.

Just as the man glanced up - the barest hint of recognition in his gaze - he pulled the trigger, putting a neat scorchmark between somewhat widened eyes. They looked almost confused, as though he hadn't expected him to do that. Then, before his partner could run away or avenge him, he too, was shot in the face and killed almost instantly, dropping onto the ground beside his cohort. Both pairs of dead eyes were trained on him as he felt compelled to move closer to his quarry- those oddly familiar eyes, questioning- a surge of guilt far worse than the first washed over him, as a realization began to form in his mind: these men, they were his squadmates, they had somehow escaped his hell, Jonas' hell- instead of saving them, he had murdered them, all of them, like slaughtering dumb animals-

Another one of those blasted headaches snapped a hole in his head. It was the worst one yet.

Now.. why was he staring so intently at these dumb dead troopers?

And why on earth was he crying?

Ah, well. Maybe shooting more troopers would help cheer him up.


End file.
